The Gunman's Woman
by Charlene Edwards
Summary: The Strykers are back for revenge ... and they have found a few Lancers unprotected. Takes place 2 years after Catch a Wild Horse and 1 year after Shadow of a Deadman in Johnny's third year at Lancer
1. Chapter 1

Title: The Gunman's Woman  
Author: Charlene Edwards  
Rating: PG-13  
Disclaimer: The Lancers are owned by 20th Century Fox but I would buy Johnny if they'd let me. Please!  
Synopsis: This fic takes place 2 years after Chase a Wild Horse and 1 year after Shadow of a Dead Man. This is the boy's 3rd year at Lancer.   
Thanks to my wonderful betas Lacy, Ros, Vickie, & Em. This is my first Lancer fic. I hope you all enjoy. Char :-)

THE GUNMAN'S WOMAN: Part 1:

"Grady! Grady Lancer! You come here right this minute," the slender, red headed woman called out from the door of the general store.

"Aw, Ma, do I haf'ta?" the eight year old asked with a sigh. He stood up from the game of marbles he was engaged in. He kicked the dirt, shoved his hands in his pockets, and meandered over to his mother. 

"Yes, you have to. Grady Lancer," she started, taking her hand, dusting him off. "You've gotten yourself just as dirty as you can be."

"I wuz just playing, Ma."

She smiled at him and straightened his mop of dark brown hair. "I know that. You don't get to come to town often enough."

He shrugged and smiled at her. "It's okay, Ma. But I wuz enjoying playing marbles with the fellas."

She placed her hands on her hips and tried to look serious as she stared down into his little face. "All right, you go on and play marbles. I can make our order and load the wagon by myself."

"Sure would be nice if Johnny were here. He'd help ya load the wagon, Ma."

"Yes. Yes he would," she said with a smile as she thought back to their somewhat frequent visitor ... Johnny Madrid. But he wasn't Madrid, he was Lancer. Johnny Lancer. Jessamie had never thought when she chose the Lancer name that she'd ever meet the man who owned it. It was just a name on a sign tacked to a tree in front of what seemed to be abandoned property that she had made into her home. Well, she still hadn't met the man who had owned the property, not really, but she had met his son. And what a meeting they had had.

Jessamie smiled as she thought of Johnny. He was incredibly handsome; she noticed that immediately, even if she was pointing her rifle at him. Those blue eyes that seemed to sparkle out from under his unruly black hair with a hint of wickedness. Her fear of strangers, particularly the stranger she knew was looking to kill her, made her understandably nervous. Johnny was not deterred by her gruff exterior or her rifle. She couldn't help but stifle a laugh though when she recalled him saying "No little woman with a big gun --" No he never did finish that sentence. He was lying on his backside looking up at her after she had peppered the ground with bullets. And he laughed. What a wonderful laugh he had too. It made her tingle inside when she heard it ... made her want to put her rifle down. But her fear had taught her to keep it up. 

Thank God he didn't back down. Why Johnny played along with her, telling her he was Johnny Madrid, and then helping her knowing that she wasn't really a Lancer, she'd never know. She would be eternally grateful for it however. Johnny had saved her life and her son's. She should have paid more attention to Grady's instincts than her own. She had made such a huge mistake ... it had almost been fatal for all three of them. If not for Johnny, she and Grady would be dead. 

Johnny should've hated her -- for trusting Harner, for throwing his gun out the window, for using a name she didn't have a right to. Yet, he didn't hate her. He told her he was proud of the use she had made of the Lancer name. He let her tend to his injury ... Harner's bullet in his shoulder. He had stayed a few more days and they had really gotten to know each other. And then ... one day a few months later ... Johnny rode back in. He stayed and helped out again. Her "hired hand". And he'd kept it up, visiting them every few months, staying a week or so, each time helping them out. 

Helping her out. Out of the shell she had built around herself. Jessamie had built walls around herself ever since the man who was Grady's natural father had attacked her, forcing himself on her. She hadn't let anyone in ... until Johnny. Over this past year, Johnny had worked his way into her house, her life and her heart. 

"Mrs. Lancer?"

Jessamie turned. "Oh, Mr. Palmer, I'm sorry, I was lost in thought. What did you say?"

"I was saying that bolt of material you wanted has come in." She followed the elderly shop keeper inside.

Two men stepped from around the corner of the building. Trail dust covered their already dirt stained clothes. "Lancer?" the younger of the two men said. "You think she's any relation to that Lancer who killed Eli, Pa?"

Samuel Stryker's eyes narrowed as he thought. "Could be, Davey boy, could be. You head into the store and see what you hear. Don't steal nuthin' while you're in there. I'm gonna go lissen to that little boy a bit."

"If they are related to the Lancers?"

"Well, we might just get to do what's needed doing since your brother was murdered."

Stryker moved across the street seeming to head toward the water trough near the tree where a group of four young boys were playing marbles. He took off his hat and wiped the sweat from his brow as he sat on the edge of the water trough.

"Is that a real cat's eye marble, Grady?" Seth Watkins asked.

"Uh huh, it is. Johnny got it for me last month when he took Ma and me to Sacramento for the week," Grady replied. 

The oldest of the boys, a boy who seemed to be around ten with pale blond hair, looked wide-eyed. "Your hired hand took you and your Ma to Sacramento? Ain't never heard of a hired hand doing that before."

"Well," Grady said as his small hand shot the bright blue ball towards the others, "Johnny's our friend too, Billy. He's not just a hired hand. He's had other jobs too. Lots of them. But he helps us out whenever he's around here."

"Yeah, I know what kind of other jobs he has," Seth said watching the marbles. "I got books on him."

Grady looked up from the game. "What'cha mean ya got books on Johnny? Why'd somebody write a book on Johnny?"

Seth rolled his eyes and rocked back on his heels as he fished a folded dime novel from his back pocket. "You told me his name was Johnny Madrid. He's a gunfighter." He handed the book across to Grady while the other two boys stretched to look at the cover. 

Grady's eyes were wide as he read the title "Johnny Madrid, Dangerous Desperado". Grady stammered. "Uhm ... well ... I knew he was a famous gunfighter. My Pa was a famous gunfighter too and they knew each other."

"Ain't never heard of no gunfighter named Lancer," Billy said indignantly.

"I have," Stryker interjected, drawing the attention of all four boys. The children stood and moved closer to the water trough and the stranger who sat there.

"You've heard of ... my ... Pa?" Grady asked tentatively. He'd never known anything about his father. His mother didn't speak about him other than to tell Grady that he had died before Grady was born, and she had only once said that his father had been killed. Grady had just made the rest of it up. At least, he thought he had.

"John Lancer. He's a mighty famous gunfighter. He your Pa?" Stryker asked.

The child nodded. Grady sighed inwardly. He didn't know his father's first name. That was another thing his mother had never told him. But John was the same as Johnny's name, and he had wished so many nights that Johnny was his Pa. And now ... here's someone who knew of a John Lancer. Yes, that could be his Pa.

"I still ain't heard of no gunfighter named Lancer," Billy Martin said with conviction. "And he can't be that good or that famous if he's dead."

Grady looked down at the dirt while Stryker watched the boys. Stryker laughed. "Well, you haven't heard of him using the Lancer name because that's not what he hired out as. But some folks, well they know his real name. Lots of men change their names ... especially outlaws and gunfighters." Stryker watched the young boy who was watching his foot shift the dirt in a circle. "Besides, whoever said he was dead?"

Grady's head jerked up. "He's not dead? Ma said he died before I was born."

Stryker nodded his head in a knowing fashion. "I can see why she might. Outlaws and gunfighters have enemies. Enemies who would hurt them through their family."

"Well, what name does Grady's Pa use hiring out?" Seth asked.

Stryker watched the boys, especially Grady. After Lancer had killed Eli, he had done some asking around. He'd found out that the boy was more than a cowboy working on his father's range. He was a gunfighter ... a hired killer. Eli never had a chance. Stryker remembered to this day watching as Lancer gunned his son down. How Eli clutched his abdomen and fell to the ground, and how pale he looked when he breathed his last breath. His eyes narrowed, he focused on Grady. So this was a little secret Lancer thought he had nice and safely tucked away from the world. Stryker's heart turned to stone and he replied, "Johnny Madrid."

Grady's blue eyes grew wide as saucers. His small mouth fell open. Johnny? His real name was Lancer? Clutching the dime novel to his chest, Grady turned and ran to the buckboard scrambling into the back. He was breathing hard. His heart was thundering in his chest. Could it be possible? He looked down at the book he held in his hand. Johnny really was a gunfighter. Grady had thought that he might be. After all, Johnny rode in on the back trails, real sneaky like, just like the other book had said outlaws did. And Johnny never did answer when he asked him if he was running away from the law, never said if he was or he wasn't. Then he had killed that bad man who had wanted to kill his Ma.

But ... was Johnny his Pa? That man said Johnny Madrid's real name was Lancer. His name was Lancer. Could it be true? Grady closed his eyes and prayed that it was true.

"Grady?" Jessamie's voice called as she walked out of the store. "Honey, are you all right? I thought you were playing marbles?"

Grady turned his head and watched as his friends sat enraptured by the stories the man sitting on the water trough was telling them. Stories about Johnny. Stories he wanted desperately to hear and yet, was scared to hear. "I'm ready to go home, Ma."

Jessamie's eyes narrowed as she moved over to her son. Her hand felt of his forehead. "Are you getting sick?"

"No, Ma, I just wanna go home," he waited until she turned to put her packages in the back of the wagon before he slipped the dime novel in his shirt. He'd read it later. When his Ma wasn't watching. "Ma, when's Johnny coming again?"

"I don't know Grady. Soon, I'm sure." She smiled. Soon. But not soon enough.

Davey Stryker exited the store and watched the wagon driven by the red haired woman making its way down the dusty street. Seeing his father by the water trough he walked over. A smile formed on his dirty face as he heard the story his father was telling the young boys.

"-- a devil he is. Johnny Madrid would kill a man for a dollar. I've heard tell he killed men just because they looked at him wrong."

Seth nodded his head. "That's what the book said. He could kill us all."

"In our sleep, I betcha," Billy said. "I'm gonna tell my Pa."

"Someone should tell the sheriff, but it wouldn't do no good," Stryker said. "Lancer ... that is Madrid ... he murdered my son. Stole a black horse right from us. Tried stealing our whole herd."

Billy's eyes were wide. "The law did nuthin'?"

Stryker shook his head. "No. Most law is scared of men like him. Outlaws, gunmen, most lawmen won't go up against them. There won't be no justice for my Eli."

Billy and Seth eyed each other before they took off looking for their mothers. Davey laughed softly as he watched the children scamper off. "Pa, you beat all. So, they are related to that Lancer who killed Eli?"

"Yep," Samuel Stryker said standing and swiping the dust from his clothes. "She's his woman and that's his boy. Folks around here thought Johnny Madrid was her hired hand." He shook his head thinking of the incredulity of the situation.

Davey's face grew grim. "I heard the shopkeep talking with the woman. Got an idea where her place is. What're we gonna do, Pa?"

"I figure its time we killed a Lancer or two."

TO BE CONTINUED ...


	2. Chapter 2

Thanks go out to my betas Ros, Lacy, Vicki, and Em. Y'all are great. I hope you all enjoy this part. Char

The Gunman's Woman: Part 2

The tinkling sound of fast moving spurs clattering across the stone floor drew all eyes toward the door. "You're late," Scott said with a twinkle in his eyes.

"Yeah, well, I had more cows ta count than you did," Johnny said pulling his chair from the table and taking a seat. "Teresa, what's for lunch?"

"Beef stew," she replied filling his plate.

The hearty aroma filtered up to him. Johnny closed his eyes and savored the smell of the meat, garlic, and vegetables. "Smells good, chica," he grinned.

"How was the gully?" Murdoch asked his youngest son.

Johnny shrugged as he ladled a spoonful of stew into his mouth. He made a face then downed a large gulp of water. "That's hot!"

"It's supposed to be hot," Teresa replied.

"John. The gully?" Murdoch waited.

"It was okay. Had some of the hands clear it out so we shouldn't have any cattle getting stuck on anything in there."

"Good. Tomorrow, I want you and Scott to -- " Murdoch stopped. His attention went to the knocking on the kitchen door.

Teresa opened the door with a smile. "Hello, Frank."

"Miss Teresa," the ranch hand answered taking off his hat. "Didn't mean to interrupt your lunch. Jelly and I just got back from getting the supplies. The stage driver had a letter for Johnny. Asked if we'd bring it out."

Johnny looked up and quickly swallowed his stew. "A letter? For me?"

"Yes sir," Frank answered walking in and handing the envelope to Johnny.

Scott grinned. "Has my little brother gotten a love letter?"

Johnny looked across the table with a mock glare. "It ain't impossible, ya' know."

"Really? You mean the girls you see can actually write?"

Murdoch chuckled at their antics. He looked up as Jelly meandered into the kitchen and fixed a plate of stew, joining them at the table. "How was town?"

Murdoch listened to Jelly's complaints about Green River while he watched Johnny pull the note from the envelope. The look on his youngest son's face ... eagerly anticipating the contents of the letter along with his alertness to keeping his elder brother from seeing the contents ... pleased the older man.

Johnny smiled as he pulled a small photograph from the envelope, carefully guarding it from his family's prying eyes. He glanced up at his brother who was proudly declaring he was right, it was a love letter. Johnny shook his head and extracted the folded sheet of paper. Unfolding it, he read.

The smile dropped from his face as he felt his chest constrict. His breathing was coming faster than normal. The letter dropped from his hands. No. Johnny took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He had to calm himself. He had to find his place where emotions did not control him. "Frank, saddle Barranca. Jelly, get me some ammunition." He pushed away from the table.

Scott's head jerked to face his brother. He recognized the cold, deadly tone emanating from his little brother. "What? Johnny?"

Murdoch rose, his hand reaching out for Johnny. "Son, is something -- "

Johnny sidestepped his father's reach. He was paying them no heed at all. He didn't have the time. Exiting the kitchen, the jingle of his spurs sounded through the house as he took the stairs two at a time, heading for his room. 

Scott reached across the table picking up the discarded note and photograph. He noticed the writing on the back of the picture. It was feminine. In the flowing script, Scott read the words "Johnny, Jessie and Grady, April 10, 1873." Flipping the photograph, Scott felt his breath catch in his throat as he looked down at his brother sitting with a little boy in his lap, a beautiful young woman standing beside them. Scott handed the picture to Murdoch as Teresa and Jelly both crowded around him trying to see. 

Scott read the letter aloud. "You killed my son. Now I'm going to kill yours. Stryker."

Teresa gasped. "Stryker? That man who -- "

"Yes," Scott ground out.

"Your son," Murdoch parroted then looked back at the photograph he held in his hand. "Johnny's son?"

"I don't understand," Teresa began.

"None of us do," the tall blond countered. "No one but Johnny." He looked at his father and said with conviction, "I'm not letting him do this alone. Teresa, tell Frank to saddle my horse as well."

Murdoch nodded, his mind was reeling. Pocketing the picture and the note, he looked at his ward. "I'm going too. Have Frank saddle all of our horses. Jelly, get the ammunition Johnny asked for."

"You got it boss. I'm goin' too," Jelly replied as he headed out of the kitchen.

"No," Murdoch's voiced boomed behind him. "Someone needs to stay with Teresa."

"I never get ta go nowhere," Jelly grumbled as he headed for the study. 

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Johnny sat heavily on the edge of his bed and ran a hand through his thick black hair. Grady. Grady was in danger because of him. And Jessie. What about Jessie? The note didn't say, but Johnny knew no one would take Grady from Jessie without a fight. Was she okay? Had they hurt her? How bad had they hurt her?

Stryker was going to pay this time. Murdoch had stopped him from killing them the day they shot Scott and had held his family hostage in their own home. No one would stop him from getting the job done this time. 

Standing, he moved to his armoire. He opened it and pulled the saddlebags he kept near the bottom. The ones that were always ready to go should he need to move quickly. They held everything he might need. They were Madrid's bags. Johnny's eyes narrowed as he tossed them over his shoulders. Stryker and his men had faced Johnny Lancer. This time they were dealing with Johnny Madrid. There would not be a next time.

He left his room with a cold determination sweeping over him. His steps were quick but deliberate. "Jelly, you got that ammunition?" Johnny asked as he tore into the great room.

"Right here, Johnny," Jelly said handing the extra saddle bag to the younger man. "Didn't know how much you'd need so I filled up one side."

"And I put some food in the other side," Teresa added as she watched him. Watched and worried over her brother.

"Thanks." Johnny threw the bag over his shoulder along with his own saddle bags and headed toward the door. He stopped, drawing a quick breath, as he saw Scott and Murdoch, sitting on their horses, waiting. Barranca's reins in his brother's hands.

"What do you two think you're doing?"

"Going with you," Scott answered.

"I don't need a babysitter," Johnny said tying off the two sets of bags behind his saddle. "And I don't need you two slowing me down."

"We won't," Murdoch replied, "but we are going with you."

"Why?" He asked, his voice rising in exasperation. "This is my problem -- "

"No, son, it's our problem. Stryker is our problem. This ... boy ... they've taken ... what's his name?"

Johnny glared. They read the note. Damn. He had dropped it on the table. Now they were wondering. Well, he didn't have time to explain if he was inclined to, which at the moment he was not. "Grady," he answered swinging up in the saddle.

"Grady what?" Scott queried.

"Grady ... Lancer." Johnny turned Barranca and galloped toward the stone archway. They asked. He answered. He didn't have time for this. It didn't matter who Grady was ... all that mattered was that Grady was in danger because of him.

Scott and Murdoch shared a concerned glance before kicking their horses into a run following Johnny. 

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"You've got to do something! They've taken my son! You're the sheriff, you have to help me," Jessamie pleaded with the stone-faced man outside the sheriff's office.

She had pleaded with this man off and on for days since Grady had been kidnapped. Time had become interminable. Jessamie had tried to find Grady on her own when the men of this town -- her town -- would not help her, only to have gotten lost. Reluctantly, she had returned to Cavitt Springs and the seemingly never-ending battle with the Sheriff for help.

She wasn't crying anymore. She felt as if she had used up her tears. Never in her life had she felt so alone, not even the night that Grady's father had raped her. It weighed heavy upon her, this feeling of being so alone. She had lived in Cavitt Springs eight years, thought she had friends, yet no one offered to help her find her son. Jessamie could not fathom the reality she found herself in.

"I'm sorry, ma'am," the sheriff said coldly, ignoring the bruises to her face. "There's no decent man in this town who wants to get involved in this."

"Decent!" Jessamie yelled, her anger swelling. "Those men kidnapped an eight year old child. Decent men would be out looking for him!"

"If it was any other child, they would. We all would, but I've been telling you we're not getting involved in this."

"Any other child? But not my child? Why? I don't understand, why?"

Emmet Palmer stood in the crowd listening. He shook his head. "Not Johnny Madrid's child! We've all been nice to you and that boy. Thought you were a widow. We didn't know you were that gunhawk's woman. This is his problem. Cavitt Springs don't want Johnny Madrid's problems."

Jessamie shook her head, she could not believe what she was hearing. "Johnny?"

"You should be ashamed of yourself," Rachel Martin said pointing her finger at Jessamie. "Passing yourself off as a widow. I bet you were never even married. We all know what that makes the boy. We don't want our men folk getting hurt or killed over a gunfighter's --"

"A gunfighter's what?" a low drawl asked. Jessamie turned toward the street, her hand flying to her mouth. She ran off the sidewalk and flung herself into the embrace of Johnny's open arms. The tears she felt she could no longer cry started to fall again. He soothed her softly before looking back at the crowd. "A gunfighter's what?"

"Bastard," Sheriff Corbin said moving to the front of the crowd. "I think that's what they mean, Madrid."

Johnny's eyes narrowed as he focused on the brown haired man. He knew Corbin. Had run into him when he was sheriff in Laredo six or seven years ago. "My name's Lancer, Sheriff, Johnny Lancer."

Murdoch and Scott dismounted. Despite the ache in his back, Murdoch moved stiff legged to stand behind his son and the distraught young woman Johnny held in his arms. "I'm Murdoch Lancer, Sheriff. We've come to find," Murdoch hesitated. What did he call the child? What did he know about him? His name, Johnny's obvious feelings for the boy and his mother, the infectious smile the boy had in the photograph. Johnny hadn't shared anything in the three days they had been on the trail. "Grady. We've come to find Grady."

"Then you go find him. It's not our concern."

"Now wait a minute," Scott said angrily. "What do you mean it's not your concern? It's your job, Sheriff!"

"We're not getting involved. From what I hear, Madrid killed the man's son and stole his horse. If the law had dealt with Madrid then perhaps the man wouldn't be trying to get his measure of justice."

Scott felt the heat flush his face. He felt as if steam was coming out of his ears. "You do not know what you are talking about. Stryker and his sons were the horse thieves. Stryker's son tried to shoot Johnny in the back and he was only defending himself. So I would thank you if you stopped acting so self-righteous and started doing your job."

"Don't you ride in here and tell me what my job is!" Corbin started angrily walking down into the street.

"Scott," Johnny's soft spoken word caught his brother's attention. "It ain't worth it. Let's go."

Scott's eyes narrowed as he glared at the sheriff. He wanted nothing more than to pummel the self righteous, self important man. Maybe another time. "Don't worry, Sheriff. Lancer takes care of its own." 

Jessamie held onto Johnny as if the world would end if she let go. "They won't help. I've begged them for days and they won't help."

"I know." He led her to her wagon. Placing his hands around her small waist, he lifted her into the seat. "Where did Stryker go?" he asked softly.

"I ... I don't know. I can show you from the house which way he went. Johnny, he said he was going to kill Grady. Why? Why is this happening?"

Johnny dipped his head and sighed. Softly, he answered, "Because of me. Because I killed his son. C'mon Jessie, let's go find Grady." He looked back at his family who had moved closer to the wagon. Johnny knew his father's back was killing him. Murdoch should not have come but there was no deterring the man. "Murdoch, can you drive the wagon? I don't think Jessie should."

Handing his reins to Scott, Murdoch strode over to the wagon climbing in. He smiled at Jessie as he picked up the reins. "I'm Johnny's father, Murdoch Lancer. And this," he said pointing to Scott who was mounting his chestnut gelding, "is my other son, Scott. We're going to get your son back."

Jessamie nodded before she wrapped her arms around herself and bent over sobbing. Murdoch glared at the crowd outside the sheriff's office as they rode past. His eyes then looked up to watch his sons riding in front of them. The Sheriff and the town's people had been so cold, heartless, toward this woman just because of her association with Johnny. How much worse had his son been treated by people like this? How hard it must have been for Johnny growing up alone and unwanted? No wonder his son had turned to a gun. But even the gun had not saved Johnny from pain; physical or emotional. Murdoch wondered if anything ever would.

Scott spurred his horse beside of his brother. He needed answers. He need to know who this woman and this child were and, most importantly, what their relationship to his brother was. Three nights. Three nights on the trail and not one word from Johnny about this woman and child. When asked, Johnny would simply stalk off checking on the horses or keeping a lookout. Scott knew Johnny was upset, but Scott felt talking about it would help. It wasn't good to keep things bottled up. "Johnny?"

"Not now, Scott," Johnny replied to his brother's unspoken query. 

"Fine. But soon, brother, soon."

To be continued ...


	3. Chapter 3

Hi all, here's part 3. Sorry so long in posting but real life's been demanding of late. Thanks go out to my wonderful betas Em, Lacy, Ros & Vickie. I hope you all enjoy this part.

Char :-)

**The Gunman's Woman: Part 3:**

The sun had set by the time they pulled into the yard in front of the quaint farm house. Johnny jumped from Barranca, dropping the reins as he moved to the wagon and lifted Jessie out. "Can you put up the horses, Boston? Please."

"Sure, Johnny," Scott said. He sat his mount and watched as his brother and Jessamie quickly disappeared into the house, and then he sighed before dismounting.

"This is the land Johnny sold last year," Murdoch mused aloud as he took the reins of his sons' horses and led them towards the barn.

"For the biscuits?" Scott asked as he started unhitching the wagon team.

Murdoch smiled slightly at the memory. Try as they did to plead and cajole Johnny into telling them what had happened in Cavitt Springs last year, all his younger son ever said was that he had sold the property to a nice lady after he had helped her out of some trouble. Trouble that had earned Johnny a bullet in the shoulder. He said he sold the land for what it was worth -- "a dollar ... and some homemade biscuits." Johnny's eyes had glittered with laughter as he extolled his shrewd business deal. Murdoch sighed and looked toward the small house. He wondered if his son's eyes would laugh like that again.

Johnny leaned against the door he had shut behind them and inhaled a deep breath. His eyes took in the wreckage of the room. "You put up a fight," he softly stated.

Jessamie dropped her head as her body began to shake. "But they still took Grady. I couldn't stop them. I couldn't protect him." She turned tear filled eyes toward him. "Johnny, what am I going to do?"

He crossed the distance between them in three short steps, then took her into his arms. "We'll find him. I'll find him and I'll bring him home. I promise you, Jessie."

"If he's alive!" She broke from his hold. "Why? Why'd they take him? Why, Johnny? He's just a little boy?" Anger mixed with despair as Jessamie gave voice to her questions.

"I know, I know. Jessie ... it's because of me. Those men ... the Strykers ... I killed one of them a couple of years ago. Sam Stryker sent me a note saying he took Grady. He had that picture we took in Sacramento last month in it."

She nodded. "They took that when they took Grady. I ... I didn't understand why."

Johnny paced around the room. "To prove to me that they had him, I reckon. They said they were going to kill my son like I had killed Eli."

Jessamie watched him, but her mind was having trouble comprehending him. The Stryker's were going to kill Grady. No. That couldn't happen. None of this could be happening. She was dizzy and swayed where she stood. Jessamie did not remember his strong arms wrapping around her waist, but she felt herself being moved toward a chair. "Your ... son. They think Grady's your son."

"Yeah. Jessie," he started kneeling in front of her, her smaller hands engulfed by his larger ones. "I'm so sorry. This is all my fault." Johnny's heart broke as he watched large tears roll down her face.

Again, he embraced her and she held onto him, relishing the warmth and comfort his strong arms brought her. Warmth that helped, but could not fill the empty, gaping hole in her heart. "They can't kill Grady! Johnny, you have to stop them. Please, Johnny, please."

His voice was soft but confident. "If Grady's still alive, I'll bring him home to you."

"We'll bring him home," Murdoch's deep voice added. He and Scott had opened the door and watched the scene unfolding before them. His heart ached for the young mother. He knew all too well, the pain of having your child ripped from your life. He had endured it twice. Yet, neither time had he felt his child was in danger, at least not initially. Scott he knew was safe and secure in his grandfather's home in Boston. Scott, he knew, would never want for anything.

Johnny he had worried over.

When Maria had first taken their young son from his home, Murdoch did not worry that Johnny had someone to look after him and love him. Maria was many things, but she had loved their son in her own way. That had been the only comfort he had during those long and agonizing years immediately after their disappearance. He had other worries. Murdoch never knew if Johnny was cold or hungry and, after the Pinkerton's discovered and reported Maria's death to him, he had almost lost his mind worrying whether Johnny was safe. Whether he was even alive. Yet, despite it all, he never had to endure someone taking his child to kill them. Murdoch could relate to the pain that he knew had to be ripping out this young woman's soul.

And Johnny's.

Murdoch felt helpless, unable to save his son from this pain.

Johnny looked over Jessie's head and his eyes met his father's. Murdoch's voice carried such an air of confidence and authority. Johnny prayed that the words he spoke were true. They would bring Grady home. Alive, God willing. He spoke again. "We'll have to start in the morning. There's no moon to track by."

Jessamie nodded. Sniffling, she pulled herself up. "Let me fix you something to eat. You'll need it for the trip tomorrow."

"There's no need to put yourself to that trouble, Mrs. --" Scott started and then stopped himself, unsure of how to proceed.

Johnny stared at his brother before sighing. He stood and moved beside Jessamie taking her hand and motioning toward the table. "It's ... Lancer. Jessamie Lancer."

"Johnny," she started as their eyes locked and she understood. She squeezed his hand and turned to Scott. "It's been Lancer for almost nine years."

"I see," Scott replied curtly as he turned away.

"No. You don't," she interrupted. "My name's been Lancer a long time, eight years before I met Johnny. When I came here and found this deserted farm and a name on a gate. A name I needed for my baby. For ... Grady." The name choked in her throat and she turned away from the men. Jessamie could not hide the tears that rolled down her cheek.

"Ain't what you might be thinking, neither," Johnny added as he enveloped her in his strong arms. "Jessie, well, he forced her."

"And then I killed him," Jessie said whirling back to face them. "I killed him and I came here."

"The law?" Murdoch asked as the implications weighed down on him.

"Cleared me. Self-defense. But his brother had other ideas."

Johnny picked the story back up. "Hired a man to kill her. The man ... Clovis Harner ... found her last year."

Realization dawned on Scott. "The trouble you had last year when you came to sell this place." He watched his younger brother nod. "Johnny, why didn't you tell us? Why the secrecy?"

Johnny sighed, ducked his head, and scuffed his foot on the floor like a child. "I'm sorry, Scott. But it won't my secret ta tell."

"And we have been trying to figure out what to tell you ... to tell Grady," Jessie added. "It's just so complicated and it's all my fault."

"Ain't all your fault. Ain't your fault at all."

"No, it's not your fault," Murdoch said agreeing with Johnny. His eyes met his young son's. "I had almost forgotten that I had bought this place. There was no way that you could know that you would ever meet a Lancer," he paused carefully watching his son and the young woman before finishing, "much less that you'd fall in love with one."

Johnny looked down, his hands still holding Jessie's. He contemplated his father's words. Yeah, how could they have known?

"So Grady? What does he know?" Scott asked leaning back in his chair, his arms crossed across his chest.

Johnny released Jessie and watched as she moved to the stove busying herself with dinner. Johnny paced around the small room. "That he's Grady Lancer. That his Pa died before he was born. That my name is Johnny Madrid and I drift in from time to time to help out. Fix what needs fixing."

Scott couldn't stifle his laugh. "Johnny Madrid. Fix-it man. That's an image."

Johnny ducked his head and a crooked grin spread across his face. "Yeah, well, Grady also thinks that I rob banks on the side."

"Johnny Lancer!" Jessamie turned and shot him a mock glare.

"Well, I didn't tell him that ... he just decided. 'Course, I didn't tell him no different," Johnny shrugged.

"He thinks different now, Johnny," Jessie asked softly as she threw the stew ingredients into the pot. "I don't know how or why, didn't get the chance to ask him, but Grady thinks you're his Pa. Told his friends in town."

A loud sigh escaped Johnny's lips. "That's why they all think he's Johnny Madrid's son. Boy, oh boy, I've made a mess a things. Stryker must'a heard that. Must'a known Johnny Madrid and Johnny Lancer are one and the same and knowing Grady as Lancer ..." He ran his hand through his thick, unruly hair before his fist hit the wall. "I should've killed those Strykers when I had the chance." His voice was different. Harder. Colder.

"You don't mean that," Scott said moving to his brother's side.

"Don't I?" Johnny growled. "An eight year old boy wouldn't be danger if I had."

Murdoch had moved behind his son. He clasped his large, strong hand on Johnny's shoulder willing the boy to take strength and comfort from his presence. "Grady will be all right, Johnny. Remember, Lancer takes care of its own."

Johnny nodded. He started to turn around when the nearby window shattered. Jessie screamed at the sound of gunfire that peppered the room. Scott grabbed Jessie, pushing her to the floor. Johnny's gun was instantly in his hand. He pressed his body against the wall waiting for the shooting to slow up enough to let him fire back. "Scott, knock out that lamp." Quickly, he broke out the remaining glass with the muzzle of his Colt.

Scott nodded and did as his brother asked. Then he scooted across the floor to come up on the other side of the window, his gun at the ready. "Any idea how many are out there?"

"Two."

"You say that with such conviction," Scott replied as one eyebrow quirked upwards. He knew Johnny was right. He always was when it came to situations like this. His brother's uncanny ability to garner so much information from the mere sounds of firearms in use still amazed him. Amazed but not surprised.

"Just a fact. You can tell by the timing of the reports from the rifles." Johnny ticked off a count in his head before he turned and fired off six quick shots toward the direction the shots came from. "Pick it up, Boston, while I reload. You've got about ten seconds before they start firing back."

Scott nodded and started firing. He pulled his hand back and flinched as bullets whizzed past him shattering the remnants of the window pane. "Murdoch, can you --" he stopped as his eyes focused on the prone form that lay near the remnants of the table. "MURDOCH!" Scott cried as he moved to his father.

Johnny turned and watched his brother go to their father. His eyes narrowed as a cold calm enveloped him. Johnny snapped the chamber of his newly loaded gun, snatched open the front door and headed into the black night. He would use the moonless night to his advantage. He knew this land ... better than the Strykers or their men ... he had been working this land for a year now. Johnny sprinted to the well and dropped to a crouch behind it. His dark blue eyes took in the direction the shots came from and he thought of how best to get around the bushwhackers.

Deciding on a course of action, Johnny made his move. He dived for the cover of the nearby woods firing off his six-shooter as he moved. Once in the safety of the trees, he started snaking his way in the direction of the shooters, reloading his gun as he went. He closed himself off from worrying about his father's condition. There would be time for that later. He listened to the sounds of the forest, letting them wash over him until he could pick out the faint traces of voices in the night.

"Just throw the damn rock Keller," a gravely voice said. "Let 'em get Stryker's message and let's get the hell outta here."

"Nervous, Short?" the other man asked.

"Hell yeah. That's Johnny Madrid down there. I seen him when he almost killed Davey Stryker. Seen him kill some men down around the border too a few years back." Short said as he moved toward his blue roan. "We done enough, time we rode back."

Keller shook his head and laughed. "You're scared of a damn jackrabbit, Short. Go on back if ya wanna. I'm staying a bit."

"Just don't let Madrid kill ya. I heard tell he killed a man for snoring one time," Short said as he mounted his horse.

Keller scrunched up his mouth and turned to his companion. "That was Hardin I think."

"Well, it was one of 'em. They're all alike." He turned and started to ride away from the small clearing they had set up as their surveillance site for the small farm house. Short's blood ran cold when he heard a soft drawl coming from the woods.

"Hardin or me ain't never shot anyone from ambush," the soft voice said. "So that puts us a might better than you two."

Keller spun clawing for leather. His gun never cleared his holster as Johnny's bullet hit him square between the eyes. Short kicked his horse into a hard run trying to put distance between himself and the gunfighter. His body jerked as a bullet tore into his right shoulder. He leaned over his horse's neck trying to keep his seat on the steed to ensure his escape.

Johnny watched the man ride away. A small smile spread across his face. Tracks would be easier to follow with blood mixed in them. He walked over to Short and knelt down. He picked up the note covered rock that lay near the body and started heading back toward the house. Johnny lost the smile as memories of Murdoch lying still on the floor crossed his mind. Picking up the pace he ran to the house. "Scott, it's me," he called out in warning, announcing his presence to the occupants of the house. He almost jumped onto the small porch, his heart pounding in his ears, and he threw open the door. Anxiety filling his entire body. "How's Murdoch?"

**TO BE CONTINUED . . .**


	4. Chapter 4

Thanks to my wonderful betas Patty, Em, Beth, and Ros for their help on this part. I hope you all enjoy. Char :-)

THE GUNMAN'S WOMAN: PART 4:

Johnny watched the man ride away. A small smile spread across his face. Tracks would be easier to follow with blood mixed in them. He walked over to Keller and knelt down. He picked up the note covered rock that lay near the body and started heading back toward the house. Johnny lost the smile as memories of Murdoch lying still on the floor crossed his mind. Picking up the pace he ran to the house. "Scott, it's me," he called out in warning, announcing his presence to the occupants of the house. He almost jumped onto the small porch, his heart pounding in his ears, and he threw open the door. Anxiety filling his entire body. "How's Murdoch?"

"I'm fine, Son," Murdoch's deep voice replied.

Relief washed over Johnny as he took in the sight of his father sitting in a chair, Jessie tying off a make-shift bandage around Murdoch's upper forearm. Johnny dropped to one knee beside his father. "I thought --"

Murdoch clamped his hand on Johnny's shoulder. "I'm fine, Son. I just hit my head when I went down. It winded me."

Scott closed the door his brother had burst through as he holstered his weapon and asked, "What about the shooters?"

"One dead, one winged. He'll be easy to follow in the morning." Johnny slipped the note-covered rock in his jacket pocket when he stood. "I'm heading out at first light."

"Did they say anything about Grady?" Jessie asked. She picked up the bowl, scissors and leftover cloth and headed toward the sink.

Johnny shook his head, his hand still in his pocket fingered the note. He did not want to tell Jessamie about the note until he had a chance to know what it said. Picking up a lantern, Johnny struck a match. "I'm gonna go check on the horses."

Scott watched his brother leave the small house and stride off toward the barn. He could tell there was something more. Something that was weighing on Johnny. Something his brother wasn't saying. He looked back at his father and their eyes met. Murdoch nodded at him and Scott followed his brother out the door.

Scott stood in the entryway of the barn watching Johnny. His brother was reading something. Johnny stuffed it in his pocket and started working Barranca over with a curry comb. "Want to talk about it?" Scott asked.

Johnny turned toward his brother and then resumed brushing his horse. "Ain't much to talk about."

"More than what you said inside."

"Yeah," Johnny's downward brush stroke paused and he sighed. He turned to Scott, reached in his pocket, and pulled the note out. "Stryker was sending me a message. Grady's still alive."

"That's a good thing," Scott replied. He raised an eyebrow quizzically as he watched his brother resuming his brushing. "What do they want?"

"Me. They want me to come. Alone."

"They want to trade Grady for you? For you to give yourself up to them?"

Johnny shook his head. "Nope. They want me to watch ... like Stryker watched me shoot his son." He sighed and bowed his head, his hands resting on his golden horse.

Scott closed the distance between his brother and himself. "That's not going to happen, Johnny."

"I know." He looked up and flashed Scott a cocky grin. "I got a plan."

* * *

"What are you going to do about it, Sheriff?" Emmet Palmer asked. The assembled crowd in the Cavitt Springs Church echoed his sentiments as they all watched Sheriff Corbin looking for guidance. "We don't want gunfighters in our town!"

"I understand your concern," Corbin replied. "Madrid is a killer, a half-breed gunhawk. An awful expensive gun for hire. His presence brings other gunfighters and outlaws."

Rachel Martin stood up to speak. "They're not fit to be around decent people. That gunfighter, his woman, and their ... child." She looked around at the crowd for support. The gleam of hate and fear in her eyes mirrored in the crowd's eyes surrounding her. She opened her arms encompassing the area as she turned to make her case. " We're tainted by their presence. Our children need to be protected from them and their influence. We have to protect ourselves."

"Perhaps these other men will do the job for us," the sheriff answered.

"We need to purge them from the town. Purge the filth from Cavitt Springs!" another man in the crowd shouted out.

"What do you want to do about it?" Sheriff Corbin asked. His eyes gleamed like a feral animal as he watched the crowd working itself into a frenzy.

"Run 'em out!"

"Burn them out!"

"Clean up the town!"

"Get rid of Madrid! And his whore!"

A smirk crossed Sheriff Corbin's face. He hated gunfighters. He hated half-breeds. Madrid was both. He had hated him when they last met in Laredo. With any luck, they would never meet again.

* * *

"You think we can do it?" Scott asked his brother.

Johnny chewed on a piece of hay, arms resting on the stall door. "Yep. No choice really, we gotta."

"Are you okay?" Scott asked concerned.

Johnny shrugged and sighed. "I'm fine."

Murdoch's deep voice announced his arrival. "I doubt that."

Johnny turned toward his father. He glanced at the white bandage wrapped around his father's forearm. It was whiter than his own bandages normally were. He always did things he wasn't supposed to do, always caused his stitches to pull or the wounds to re-open. Laying and resting and doing as he was told had never been things that he was good at. Even when it came to his health, Johnny had never been a man good at taking orders, it seemed that was something he inherited from his father. "I ain't the one walking around with a bullet graze, ol' Man," he grinned.

"It was a flesh wound. One which Jessamie tended quite nicely," Murdoch replied.

Johnny smiled and ducked his head. "Guess I owe you two an apology." He lifted his head slightly so he could eye his family. Shrugging, he continued. "For not telling you 'bout Jessie and me. About all this."

"Johnny," Murdoch started. He held on to the end of the name as he always did when he was about to impart some parental wisdom to his younger son. A vocal emphasis, Scott had called it one day. "You're a grown man. You don't have to ask our permission about anything you do. You don't have to tell us about every move you make."

Johnny looked over at his brother who nodded his head in agreement. He felt the tension wash over and off of him. He moved over to sit beside his brother on a bale of hay and looked up at his father. "Thank you. It's been complicated. At first, I was just coming to help out. I liked Jessie and Grady and they needed a man's help around here. I knew they couldn't pay for it. I didn't ... I mean ... I never thought that Jessie and I would --"

"Sometimes, that's how it happens Little Brother," Scott said, his voice resonating with experience.

"Yeah," Johnny replied. "It's like one day we were friends and then bam ... it was something more. I wanted to tell you about it ... especially after our trip to Sacramento last month. But, well, Jessie wasn't sure. She didn't really want to go. Grady and I talked her into it. We just ... it was good, you know?" He looked down before continuing. His fingers fidgeted with the hay picking at the strands through the twine straps binding the hay into a neat golden box. "We grew closer. We just didn't know how to explain it," he said, looking up to see understanding in their faces.

"You've done a pretty good job tonight, brother," Scott said.

Johnny shrugged. "You two are easy. We don't have a clue what to tell Grady. All his life he's been Grady Lancer. I couldn't just say 'Oh by the way, my name's really Johnny Lancer'; and I figured he'd figure it out once when rode under the arch at home. How do you tell an eight year old that his real father forced himself on his mother? How do you tell him Jessie killed the man? Grady's idolized this image of his father all his life. How do you tell him everything he knows is a lie?" He turned toward his own father, his blue eyes pleading with Murdoch to help him.

"I'm not sure he's old enough to understand the truth of everything, especially his own conception, but you can't lie to him forever," Murdoch replied with a steady gaze.

"Yeah ... its just ... maybe the lie is easier." Johnny stood with a start, pacing like a caged tiger. "Maybe I should just let him keep thinking what he already is. Let him think I am his father."

Murdoch stood in Johnny's path, stopping his son's pacing. "If you thought that was the right thing to do, you wouldn't be chewing on it so hard."

Scott nodded. "Murdoch's right, Johnny. If you lie to him, then he's going to want to know why you abandoned him for seven years. I know you don't want Grady to think that."

The brothers looked knowingly at each other. Johnny dropped his head with a sigh. "Yeah, I know. I don't want to lie to Grady. No one should lie to a child, especially about his father."

Murdoch's jaw flexed as he watched his sons. The pained looks on their faces mirrored each other. His sons were acutely aware of how lies could damage lives. Both of his sons had been lied to growing up ... lied to about him. Scott by Harlan and Johnny by Maria, Johnny's life had been more than disrupted by his mother's lies, it had been endangered. Those lies had kept Johnny from coming home, from being safe, after Maria's death. Her lies led to the birth of the gunfighter Johnny Madrid. "I don't have the answer, Son, but we'll deal with it ... together."

Johnny nodded. "Yeah." He was grateful to have his family with him, supporting him. "Thanks. I'm gonna go talk to Jessie."

Murdoch clapped Johnny on the shoulder and gave a gentle squeeze, then watched as his youngest headed for the small farm house. He felt Scott's presence come up beside him.

"He'll be all right. He's pretty self-sufficient."

"Maybe too much so," Murdoch answered as he watched Johnny enter the house and close the door.

* * *

_Johnny Madrid ran from boulder to boulder, his six gun singing in his hand as he took out the fifteen members of the posse that had trailed him from Laredo. The dangerous desperado would not be taken in --_

Grady Lancer sat up with a start when he heard a creak. He knew the bad men were coming back. He folded his book, hid it in his shirt, and waited. He heard the heavy steps on the small porch of the line shack they were occupying. He watched the door slam open. Sam Stryker and his son Davey were helping the one called Short in. Grady's eyes grew wide when he saw the red blood streaming down the man's arm.

"He shot me! That sonuvabitch shot me!" Short cried out as he half sat half fell into one of the wooden chairs around the small plank table.

"You'll live," Sam Stryker replied as his hands probed the wound. "This bullet's gotta come out though."

"He killed Keller. Madrid walked right up to him and killed him. Put a bullet in his brain. Blood and brains flew everywhere --"

"What were you doing at the time?" Davey asked.

Short looked up at him, his eyes somewhat glazed from the pain and blood loss. "Getting the hell outta there," he answered. His anger flashed as he saw Davey's reaction. "Don't get on your high horse. You peed your pants when Madrid had his gun on you. You'dve hightailed it too, and you know you would, Davey Stryker."

"Aw right! You two stop! I don't wanna hear no more. We just need to get ready for Lancer to come." He dug his knife around in Short's shoulder until he felt it hit metal. The injured man writhed under his not so gentle ministration. Grimacing, Stryker got his knife under the bullet and slowly lifted it out of the sweating man's shoulder. "You need some whiskey."

"L-Little.. late." Short wheezed out in pain.

"You know, he didn't come alone, Pa." Davey said, moving to the cupboard. He pulled out a bottle of rye and passed it to the injured man.

"That's what I'm counting on," Sam Stryker said. He dropped the bullet and bloody knife on the table and turned his attention to the small boy they had chained to the bed. "You hear that. Your Pa killed one of my men."

Grady stuck his little chin out defiantly. "He'll kill you all, too. You watch. Johnny's the fastest gunfighter in the world."

Stryker advanced toward the boy, his stance menacing as he loomed above Grady. He laughed deep and hoarsely. "I don't care how fast he is. He's not getting the chance to draw. Johnny Madrid's going to throw his guns down and then your famous father ... the cold blooded killer that he is ... is going to hang."

Davey laughed at that. "Yeah, all murderers hang. It's justice."

Stryker grabbed Grady by the hair pulling the child's head back. "And he's gonna watch you die first. That's also justice."

TO BE CONTINUED ...


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